Beater's Chronicles
by Fai's smile
Summary: These are the chronicles of a new player for Pride of Portree. Will their new beater prove to be starring player or fall in with the rest? QLFC season four is on. Round 1: Bella and Rodolphus go on a date. R 2: Sirius hates divination. R 3: Snape is likely losing it. R 4 Phoenixes dislike snow. R 5: Andy sends letters. R 6: The sin of the Pride is the most deadly of them all.
1. I Date My Way

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, I just beat bludgers. Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling.**

 **A/N: This story was written for first round of QLFC Season 4.**

 **BEATER 2:** _Write about your chosen Death Eater going on a date,_

 **Optional prompts:** clock, tomorrow, meadow

 **Word count** : 1 172

* * *

 **I Date My Way**

Bellatrix sighed with annoyance. Tomorrow was a Hogsmeade weekend. And she wouldn't be able to sneak off from there to Glasgow magical district, no, she was going to go on a date instead. With Rodolphus. How dull. She was no giggly girl or decorative ornament. And she didn't even like him, certainly not in that way. He wasn't very bright, but he was from an upstanding family and shared her family's views on politics, even if only silently with that quiet, mild voice of his. He was handsome, even though he wasn't her type. His eyes were pretty, when they were alight with passion.

Tomorrow, she was going to go on a date with him, but she wasn't going to let him bore her to death and drag her around Hogsmeade. No, she was going to show him just who she was and what she expected of him. Oh, yes she could get a man her family would be happy with and get more freedom out of it. After all it was him that had been persistent in pursuing her. Besides if she secured him for marriage, she would have that off her neck and could concentrate on more important things- like helping her lord- once she had finally graduated.

~~oOoooOoooOo~~

Rodolphus could not fall asleep. He turned and kicked off the restricting blankets, only to be, in no time, forced to drag them back by the chill of dungeon. He was going on a date tomorrow. He was so nervous, it was his first date with her. He knew she had agreed only grudgingly, but she did agree. Beautiful, fierce, Bella agreed to go to date with him. It was a dream come true, but what if he disappointed her? Don't get him wrong! Rodolphus could have many girls, but he didn't want some meek, obedient arm-decoration. Why so many witches from good families believed that to be attractive- was frankly beyond him. None of them shined like Bella did. Decorations are to be used, but how can anyone love them? Love them that way, when one can not respect them? But even Bella's good for nothing cousin respected her powers. He didn't even notice when his chaotic thoughts changed into a confusing mash of unsettled dreams.

Before long, he was standing in the entrance hall, waiting for her. Still nervous, still unsure of what to do. He needed to wash down the annoyingly sweet aftertaste of pumpkin juice. His hands were sweating, which was really beginning to get to him. It was unpleasant and embarrassing. He needed a shot, damn it. Hmm, maybe he could take her for a shot at the Hogs Head. To hell with those, who don't approve of drinking based on hours of the day. A shot could settle nerves and she wouldn't expect it. His lips slowly curved into a small smile. Maybe the fire-whisky would even help him for the rest of their date.

~~oOoooOoooOo~~

The clock was ticking. Bella glanced at it with frown. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. She had just styled her hair and put on makeup. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock She hadn't applied any charms yet. And she was supposed to meet Rodolphus in the entrance hall in a minute. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Well he could wait, but the ticking was annoying. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock- what a macabre sound. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock - time lost. Tick and Tock - a step closer to the reaper. She waved her wand and smirked at the merry cracking of the fire. That was so much better.

Now, what was that hair-style protecting spell? Oh yes, flick and swish. Impervius charm on mouth and eyes. She checked herself in a mirror, oh yes, this look would do. Lips as red as blood. Green shades matching her shimmery green-blue dress. She looked like nymph or ancient goddess. If he couldn't take her taking charge, he could and would see, just what he was missing out on.

She smirked at Rodolphus' surprised face.

"Bella, you look stunning." Of course, she does, she is charming her prey like a snake.

"You look handsome, yourself. Shall we go?" Waiting for right moment to strike.

He offered her his arm in reply. The trek across the grounds was over quickly, the sunny spring day seemed to be made for walking. He led her to the Hog's head and bought the drinks. Before long they were sitting inside and nursing double-shots of firewhiskey. When they were done, Bella smirked at him:."Come on!" And before he could react, she was standing. She frowned at him and tugged him up. Always taking their prey by surprise.

"Now," she hissed. "You wouldn't want to spend such a nice day in a dinky pub, would you?" She added in a sickly sweet tone. He shook his head and let her drag him away. "Where are we going?" He asked after a few minutes. They had already passed through half of the village, insanely packed with students, and were now nearing the Shrieking shack.

~~oOoooOoooOo~~

"There is a nice secluded meadow nearby."

"A meadow?" he asked, bewildered. She surely can not mean to… No! She wouldn't, but what on earth was she planning then?

"Yes, a meadow." He shook his head and stared at her dumbly.

"Get your head of a gutter, would you?" she hissed.

When he didn't even blink at that, she added: "I just want to see, what you've really got in you. A nice duel away from prying eyes. Heavens, it feels so good to be away from that muggle-lover and his hypocrisy,"

That hadn't even crossed his mind. He leaned in and kissed her. She smelled like blackberries and tasted like the firewhiskey, they had just consumed. She deepened the kiss. Way too soon they had to stop for air. She smiled at him like the cat, that got the cream. "I take it you agree?"

His tongue felt foreign in his mouth. Suddenly speaking seemed like a herculean task. He leaned to her to kiss her again but she stepped away from him. He stopped suddenly unsure. She looked at him over her shoulder: "If you can fight me to standstill I will say yes." She waved her ring free left hand at him, before striding among the trees.

He hastily followed her. He did not want to lose sight of her. Merlin, having sex looked mild compared to this. This was not daring… it was insane. And it was sexy. He had never dueled, while hard before, but it seemed like that day was full of the first times.

No other witch would have done this. He was sure of that. He knew, a lot of people would be indignant, if they were in his place. But he was thrilled. Rodolphus had never felt this alive before. To imagine he could have ended up with some proper meek wife. He shuddered. He could not lose, he'd rather die. He would be bored to death with any other woman after this.


	2. The Evil Art

**AN: Pride of Portree**

 **Beater 2: Write about someone's hatred for the subject.**

 **Optional Prompts:**

 **Sirius - Divination: (word) throw ,** **(quote) 'The starting point of all achievement is desire.' - Napoleon Hill, picture 8**

 **Words: 1 343**

* * *

 **The Evil Art**

Sirius Orion Black hadn't always hated divination. If it were so, he would have never taken the elective. Now, as he was desperately clinging to the unhappy truth of his innocence, he laughed at the irony. He had chosen the elective simply because his family hated it. He would have never come up with such a stupid idea, if it weren't for all of his mother's screeching about how the class was: " _full of good for nothing, ignorant, bone-idle slackers and blood traitors_ ". How could he ignore such a nice invitation?

So he had taken the class. He had held such high hopes for it. If his mother was right, he would have time for more pranks and goofing around with his friends. If she wasn't, he would learn something interesting and throw it in her face. There didn't seem to be any negatives. He had been so sure that one of the Marauders would take the class with him. He was sadly mistaken. It turned out Peter took Care and Arithmancy, Remus took the same as Peter as well as Runes, and James took Muggle Studies and Runes. He and James had laughed at their friends after they had come back from Care soaked to the bone and covered in mud.

Besides, the first few weeks, when professor Shipton had gone over famous divining techniques and what they would learn, were quite interesting, it had been a well of pranking inspiration. And one couldn't forget, that professor Shipton was an easy-going, energetic and good-looking lady. And the third year curriculum was really quite alright, what with all the trekking of the grounds, when the weather was nice for the basics of Ornithomancy, (divination from the flight of birds), and for all these horse related divining techniques and otherwise having fun with tea leaves and dream diaries in the airy classroom 11. It was a bearable class. Nowhere near as boring as History but without use and without his friends.

They started fourth year with relocation to the North tower and divining from animal guts. Sirius knew, it was an old respectable technique, but that did not make it any less disgusting. The fire omens were no better and Sirius soon started to positively hate the class, but he was stuck as he had taken only two electives. So he grit his teeth, held his head high and told himself he was doing this, because it infuriated his mother. It didn't make the images any less revolting or his eyes burn any less from staring into the fire for too long. He was just thanking all the gods, that they did not have to actually gut the animals, and were only learning the theory.

" _The starting point of all achievement is desire_ " proclaimed his T-shirt. Under it in a smaller sized font stood the author's name: " _Napoleon Hill"_. - Now that was an elegant way of showing his mother dearest, what he thought. Oh, she threw such a beautifully enraged fit upon seeing him in it on the first of September. Sirius considered it a win, especially when she yelled about filthy muggles tainting their family ideologies and standing them on their head. He figured she meant the family's unofficial motto of: " _A Black always gets what a Black wants_." But then it was not as if he cared, what that banshee thought. Still, those good memories of riling her up, were all that kept him going. Step after step, the mantra sometimes spiced up with the sweet promise of this being the last year that he had to deal with divination.

But even then the trek seemed endless. Stars, stars and yet more stars. And after the unreasonable amount of stars, a classroom full of odours that seemed to have assorted themselves into the very walls and no amount of venting could get rid of them. And as if that was not enough of a reason to hate the lesson, the stupid classroom was the warmest place in the castle. The combination of it all caused his head to swim and his body to sag, as if he were in the middle of a field at midday without a drop of water, dazed by the sun and the heavy scent of herbs.

It was even worse now that his _other form's_ characteristics highlighted the heavy scent ever-present in that evil, evil tower. But the cherry on the top was the class held there. The time slowed to a crawl with its start and just as he was about to fall asleep or maybe, in a manly fashion pass out due to the lack of breathable air, someone screamed or broke something that shattered with terrible clang. And even worse than that, was their scared and pale face. It was no fun to see death omens. Especially not when there was a war raging just outside the grounds and their families were out there.

So, yes Sirius hated divination with a passion, but due to his pride did everything to hide it. He faintly remembered, that he used to quite like _miss_ Shipton, as she insisted they call her, but looking at the pale being with black bags under her eyes and listening to the hoarse whisper of her voice, he could not comprehend, why. Still he tiredly listened to what she said, he wanted to pass his divination OWL, and he wanted to see his mother's face, when he did.

That image kept him going through cartomancy and its unwavering pattern of death and suffering. Through the mist full of dementors he saw every time, he gazed into a crystal ball and even through uselessly holding Alice as she sobbed her eyes out over whatever it was, she saw in her own work. It all came to a head for him though, when they started linemancy.

In many ways the Divination classroom resembled a place for séances as portrayed by muggle movies. Miss Shipton never mentioned anything muggle, so it was quite shock to get squared paper from a muggle notepad, but that was how it started - with squared paper and a muggle pen. Miss Shipton gave them to everyone, while going on with her lesson. When the mutterings of the few pureblood bigots in class got too loud, she stopped and glared.

" _ **Silence!**_ " she yelled. " _The squared paper and fountain pen are not necessary, but very helpful. If you don't want to use them, then that's fine by me! Don't! But do not expect me to mark you more leniently than your more practical classmates_." miss Shipton added in a low hiss.

Surprisingly enough, that worked and the lesson resumed. Sirius wondered whether he was the only one, who felt too sober for this. But he obediently doodled without conscious thought concerning the said activity on his paper.

He was startled from his progressively sleepier musing by clapping.

" _Now, we are going to interpret the lines on your respective papers. There are several…_ " to Sirius, her voice turned into undecipherable background noise as all of his attention turned to the effort of not throwing up. The mishmash of arcs and sharp turns made him nauseous but unable to turn away all at once. He was, in truth, so absorbed in not throwing up that he did not notice his professor coming up behind him, until she loudly gasped and clutched his shoulder.

" _Oh, dear!_ " she exclaimed. " _So much misunderstanding, so much pain, such sad misconceptions, and the deceit, oh dear, it will trap you i_ -"

Whatever she was saying, Sirius was saved from it by the bell. He just grimly promised himself, that should deceit trap him, it would be deceit he himself came up with.

The cold of the castle's corridors sunk its unforgiving claws into him. He couldn't recall Hogwarts ever being this dreary. Sirius blinked and the uniform, grey walls came into view. He let out a bark of bitter laughter. Oh, how he hated divination. He might hate it and the thrice damned prophecies more, than Voldemort himself.


	3. Of Lioness and Sanity

**Round 3**

 **AN: Pride of Portree (so the team challenge is Pride)**

 **Beater 2:**

 **Optional Prompts:** **(occasion) first day at school; (emotion) surprise,**

 **Word count category: 1 501 - 1 750**

 **Word count: 1 577**

* * *

 **Of Lioness and Sanity**

Severus Snape would have never admitted to being nervous, but truth be told, he was. In fact, the only reason he was not suffering a nervous breakdown was his impressive occlumency skills. And how could he not be nervous? It was his first day at school. Well, pardon me, his first day as a _teacher_. Mind you, him being a teacher willingly was as good as Lucius Malfoy loving muggles.

Besides, half of his students to be used to go to school with him, and had witnessed his altercations with the Marauders first hand. And they were supposed to simply submit to his authority, now? He was torn between derisive laughter and a desire to get drunk under the table. His shields, thankfully, locked that in a separate dark corner from the fact that he was going to be teaching Potions and not Defense Against Dark Arts. Unfortunately, he had not yet managed to swallow the cherry on the top—him being head of house— well enough for it to meet a similar fate.

Nothing seemed to be able to hold his attention enough to divert his thoughts from his damnable uncompromising reality. At least it was not Azkaban.

As he paced his quarters in a manner reminiscent of a caged tiger, a book caught his eyes: " _A study in lion's behaviour_ ". He was pretty sure it was a gag gift from Minerva McGonagall because the stern witch would never lower herself to refusing to give a trusted, fellow order member a Christmas gift, and yet was too firm in her beliefs to give him something he would truly enjoy. He had been shocked speechless when he had been given it, even if his mind had come up with the above-mentioned explanation in seconds. So, despite the book being gifted to him with not the best intentions, it made it to a prominent place in his new quarters.

Looking back, it probably wasn't the wisest choice of reading material to kill time before the undoubtedly loud welcoming feast, but he found it hard to concentrate in his agitated state and the tales, even the scientific ones, of faraway places had a way of drawing one in.

He had been in for a surprise that year; and not only because Minerva had started to treat him collegially. No, the biggest surprise had come from her house's behaviour. There was no reason for Gryffindors to resemble lions. But the more he looked at them, the more he found that they did. When he first noticed the similarity, he had thought back to his own school days and realised, that yes, it had been so, even back then. Marlene and Dorcas had worked like lionesses in a pride of lions. It never failed to stun him. Not the behavior of the boys, but the behaviour of the girls.

Their behaviour was so far removed from the actions of the girls in all the other houses, but so similar to the behaviour of lionesses, that he found it tragical. Lily was never like that. But then, he firmly believed, that Lily could have fitted into any house without a problem.

When Miss Granger first stepped up to lie on the behalf of her pride, he had read the truth with a quick glance, Potter practically projected it. He and Weasley had guilt written all over their faces. Even if Weasley dropping his own wand, in shock at what Granger was saying, was not a dead giveaway on its own. Back then he had faded into the shadows and watched Minerva scare them both to death, seemingly believing Granger's tale.

Back then Severus had simply taken it as gratitude on her part. After all, the boys did save her life. Only it did not end shortly afterward as he had hoped. No. Granger proved to be as doomed as any lioness. And to think, he had briefly hoped that she would shine on her own as Lily once did. Oh, she put on a heroic effort into trying to get them to study, Severus thought bitterly, but Gryffindors were as lazy as lions. And as the zoologists proved, that meant awfully lazy, since all of the work in a lion's pride was done by lionesses.

Only Granger's charges were children, so they managed to combine being sinfully lazy with getting into an absurd amount of trouble. And they were so innovative with it too. She tried to protect Potter from Quirrell's curse and even as Severus tried to put out the damned flame from his own robes, he found himself oddly thankful. Because, as surprising and incomprehensible as Severus Snape still found the lioness-like behavior of some Gryffindor girls to be, he was secretly very grateful that Lily's son had such a fierce and clever protector.

As he stared in silence at Potter's still slightly bloody face, he wondered whether the whole house business was just some weird social experiment. Bloody lions did not deserve them—fierce lionesses and loyal badgers alike. Tonks had pulled off that healing spell nicely if Snape had not been a spy or if the two of them had bothered to vanish the blood, he would not have noticed that Potter's nose had been broken at all.

They are just lazy bullies, and yet people love them. Call them kings of the jungle. Even as they only ever properly move to impress and win lionesses for their pride or to save their own miserable hides. Actually, Severus once heard a fable, where a pompous, arrogant, cruel lion was taught a lesson. Although the other animals in it were quite outplayed too. The ridiculous curse made them either sickeningly forgiving or unfortunately starving as getting enough nuts to eat is a lot more difficult, when one is suddenly a Hagrid-sized squirrel. Severus disliked that fable with a passion.

He deducted points, but he did not give the boy a detention since he had the manners to thank Tonks, and sent Potter to the Great Hall. He watched miss Granger fuss over her so called friend. Ah, so she did not consider this whole mess to be of Potter's make. Maybe, Draco had finally learnt a bit of subtlety? Good, that could save his life as snakes, unfortunately, had no lionesses to protect them, especially not ones as arrogant as Draco. Even if Draco had a very protective mother, he thought bitterly.

Severus shook his head. Those absurd thoughts were very insistent, and they always attacked a bit more viciously on the first day of school, whatever it was. As he waited for two boys to finally arrive in their flying car, so he could thoroughly chew them or as he watched miss Granger stay alert through Umbridge's enlightening speech and then explain it to her charges. And Potter managing to once again get into trouble before he even stepped into the school did not help.

Maybe he should write them down. Lily used to say, that if a thought bothered her, it usually stopped when she put it on paper. Now, that was an amusing thought: _Similarities between lionesses and Gryffindor students. An essay by Severus Snape_. He snorted. He could see it. Severus would write that apart from the type of walk and the ability to use magic, the biggest difference between lions and Gryffindors laid in the fact, that females of Gryffindor house did tend to have a more impressive mane than the males.

Severus closed his black tired eyes and took a deep breath. Oh, Merlin help him, he was losing it. This accursed war was finally doing away with his sanity. Or was it simply that comparing students to animals was more appealing than thinking about the bloody civil war that was starting in earnest outside Hogwarts' ancient walls? On the other hand, if the alternative truly was letting Slughorn remind him of days long gone or to think about what his crazy master was planning, was there really any harm in comparing Gryffindors to lions and lionesses?

With another deep breath, Severus made his way to the teachers table. It was time to survive the insufferable Welcoming Feast. He smirked, well, maybe not as insufferable this time, considering what these brats were about to learn. Teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts was a dream come true. It saved him from watching the dunderheads torture their potions equipment instead of trying to learn the beautiful art of brewing, and it gave him a chance to curse them without breaking school policies.

* * *

Hermione looked at the book in her hands in stunned disbelief and then laid it on the table before her. She pinched herself. It hurt. So this was not a dream. Maybe the trauma of Second Wizarding War was finally catching up with her. _'Or maybe it caught one of its crucially positioned players_ ' whispered a smooth sinister baritone in her mind. She shook her head to clear it. When did her inner sarcastic self adopt that voice? And why? And an even better question, why did she inherit that book? Honestly, why did Snape even write such a book?

And so Hermione sat and stared at the innocuous looking book. Its cover was done in a pretty shade of orange with a black baobab tree silhouette and black lettering proclaiming: _The Prides of Lions, the Prides of Gryffindors: Study in Sociobiology._ Under that baffling title stood the equally baffling name of the author: _Severus Snape_.


	4. When Bored, Stalk Wanderer

**Round 4**

 **Write from creature's POV = Phoenix's POV**

 **Optional prompts:(quote) "Not all who wander are lost." ~ J.R. Tolkien; (dialogue) "You know, I don't really need you.";( image)** /wallpaper/sites/default/files/images/04-2013/snowy-mountain-wallpaper. 

Word count: 1 214

* * *

 **When Bored, Stalk Wanderer**

I spotted the man from afar. His eyes were not as almond shaped as was the norm for his kind and his skin was the wrong shade. It soon became apparent that he was a stranger from a distant land as he could not properly speak with his fellow humans without reeking heavily of magic. His very magic was foreign; it was intriguing. He seemed to have wandered here from very far away and yet, he did not seem so much lost as resigned.

There was yearning in his gaze whenever he looked west. And yet, every time, he caught himself doing so, he would straighten his back and resolutely march further east. His eyes would roam around, searching for something new. Something he could explore. Something that would distract him, I would guess, just as I was watching him in order to chase away the boredom. He wanted something to study so he could forget, or more likely distract himself while his heart healed a little bit.

But what truly captured my interest was his gift of parseltongue, or more precisely, the way he used it. He sometimes went out of his way to keep his gift hidden. But at the same time, he did not know, what, to me at least, seemed like the oldest trick for that - to use a slightly charmed pipe and hiss so quietly, that the other humans would never notice it. There was old hurt there and fear. Like in those who came up with the "pipe trick", when they noticed the unnerved fearful reaction to their gift. Humans, were so narrow-minded and yet, even if you watched them over millenniums, they still managed to surprise you.

Just as I established, that stalking the Stranger was a good way to amuse myself, the damned two-legger decided that the mountains in his way did not warrant a change in course. I knew these mountains. They were a cold place covered in a nasty snow. So I wondered whether to follow him and deal with it or to leave him to it? I could flame myself to the other side of the mountains and wait for him, but there really was no telling if he would make it through. Damn it! He was the most entertaining thing to happen since cats had managed to get worshippers, being nearly immortal was tedious.

Maybe I could flame him to Egypt? An amusing idea to be sure, but it was not worth the consequences. Apparently it was better for us to keep away from humans and to—no matter what— not appear as a threat. That was elders for you. They were no fun. They never were and never would be.

* * *

The insane two-legger actually went into the freezing mountains, so I was forced to come out of hiding. Unfortunately, beautiful majestic beings with amazing red and gold feathers like myself just weren't suited for hiding in the sparkling white snow. Fortunately, he didn't seem to mind me. He was even up to some petting and snuggling as long as I didn't use his shoulders as a perch while he was trekking through snow.

I might have miscalculated something. Well, it happened to the best of us. And the look on his face as I burst into flames was very amusing. Inconvenient timing aside, the flames were so pleasantly warm.

And then something sweet happened. He cradled me and my ashes in his hands. So I decided, that I would start to refer to him by his name if I ever learnt it. He looked at me with the same look mothers gave their fledglings, when the little ones did something stupidly dangerous. It held the same amount of worry and I suddenly truly regretted not being able to properly speak with him. I settled for trying to say **"** _You know, I don't really need you._ " with my glare alone, but he only chuckled. The nerve of him!

I turned away from him in a huff, and my breath was stolen away. The sight that greeted me was beautiful. There was a merry burbling silver stream. It played in all the hues of a setting sun. Ahead of us stood a proud grey peak under darkening clouds. The peak was covered in so much snow that only the steepest slopes stood out from it—proud and majestic. The setting sun bathed its right side in a honeyed golden glow and highlighted all the colours in the stream. Under their pure cover, the conifers and deciduous trees looked like otherworldly creations.

But, what sealed the deal for me was the warm glow promising warmth. It came from under the thick white duvet of snow that failed to entirely hide the distinctive shape of a human-made shelter. It made the scene before us look like it was taken out of a fairy-tale. I marvelled at the sight before me from my perch in the Stranger's hands and could not help but think that some miscalculations were not all that bad. Holy fire, this view almost made me reconsider my opinion about snow. Almost.

Still, the sight would have been more enjoyable from a warm place. Although the crisp air had its allure and it was as "light" as it was up high when I was flying and yet, it held certain scents of air near the surface, which made it quite enjoyable. Even so, a warm place would have been marvellous.

My perch started moving. He carefully leant me against his chest and freed one of his hands. The silence was broken by the sound of snow crunching underneath his feet. I looked at the wonderful scene before me and tilted my head back to look him in the eyes. I trilled inquisitively before glancing at the fire-light and back at him. A vibration against my back was my reply as he chuckled.

"Yes, you silly chick, we are going to that building," he replied.

I decided that these vibrations were nice but I still huffed in indignation.

"Don't be like that. You were the one so sure that I was lost." He had noticed that? He must have been really observant.

I snuggled tighter against his chest and glanced up. He raised an elegant black eyebrow at me and a smirk formed on his lips. I decided that I would be better off watching the cabin as we were nearing it.

"That," he inclined his head towards the cabin, "is a place of residence of a famous local potions master. She wants to start a school here."

He chuckled, again, before continuing: "So you see; not all who wander are lost. It just seems that too many witches think it's a good idea to start up a school in a freezing wasteland."

I chirped in scandalised disapproval. He chuckled again: "I quite agree. I only promised to exchange of some knowledge about potions and possibly sharing a few tips on how to run a school, but after that I think I shall return to Spain. A place where nobody finds the name 'Salazar' strange, and where the weather is mostly sunny. One does not have to be a flaming bird to prefer a warmer climate."

He smiled wryly at me: "What do you think, _mi amigo?_ "


	5. Not Quite Farewell

**Round 5: Mystery Boxes**

 **Character: Andromeda Tonks (née Black)**

 **Optional prompts: (quote)** 'They say marriages are made in Heaven. But so is thunder and lightning.' - Clint Eastwood **.(style)** Letter!fic **, (phrase)** 'Under lock and key **.'**

 **Word count: 1 139**

* * *

 **Not Quite Farewell**

* * *

~~oOoooOoooOo~~

 _Siri,_

 _I'm not even sure where to start. You were right. They—my parents and yours—are no family of mine. They wanted to marry me off to some branded idiot, who tortures people for fun and spews propaganda whenever he opens his mouth to speak!_

 _I'm so angry; I am not sure how I managed to not set_ _our_ _their manor on fire. Probably the damned fire-protection wards._

 _Either way, I have run away. I am writing this from Ted's flat. He is willing to let me stay for now. I don't know what I will do now apart from continuing my Healer-apprenticeship. I got accepted, did I mention that? But I will try to keep you in the loop and be there for you._

 _Please, look out for Cissy. I know she can be a right pain in the…but she is still my sister, and I know that she's going to take this hard._

 _ __._._._._.___ _ _ _ __._._._._._____ _ _ _ _ _ __._._._._._______ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __._._._._._ .________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __._._._._._______ ___ Love Andy_

 _P.S. I'm sorry that this letter is a right mess but I needed to get that off my chest._

* * *

~~oOoooOoooOo~~

* * *

~~oOoooOoooOo~~

 _Dear Cousin,_

 _I know we have had our differences but as we both consider family to be important I hope you don't mind me writing to you—even if you do have your hands full with your O. this year._

 _Still, I thought I should write this to you before you hear it from other sources. You see, when I got accepted into the Healer-apprenticeship program I was so proud; I wanted to share the news with everyone. Part of me still does._

 _But mostly, the excitement soured in my mouth since instead of sharing the wonderful news with my family I was told whom I was to marry. I won't bore you with names as it is not happening. I hope this letter finds you sooner than the spiteful one our family is sure to send as soon as they realise that I have run away. Alas, I am not letting anyone keep me under lock and key._

 _I am still getting my head around it all but I won't be coming back. That is why this letter is so important. Cousin, please understand that while I am not willing to be pawned off by my parents, I am not forsaking my family. Should you wish to keep in contact to write for advice—or later a place to spend the night—do not hesitate to turn to me._

 _Sincerely Yours,_

 _ _ __._._._._.___ __ _ _ __._._._._.____ _ _ _ _ __._._._._.______ _ _ _ _ _ _ __._._._._._______ Andromeda_

* * *

~~oOoooOoooOo~~

* * *

~~oOoooOoooOo~~

 _Dearest Sister,_

 _I find it unreasonably difficult to write this letter. I have already written to our cousins as I found that far easier to do. I couldn't even tell you what I wrote to Siri since that had been more of a pouring off my confused, raging emotions on paper rather than a properly written letter. Whereas the letter I sent to Reggie was so very proper, it failed to be much else. Alas, you deserve far better than that._

 _I suppose I should start from the beginning for this letter would quickly turn into a mess and you would not be able to make head nor tail of it._

 _As you well know, I never bought into the whole: "Pure-bloods are the Gods gifts to mankind and it is our holy duty to show the ignorant mortals, who are still unaware of it." nonsense. Unlike Sirius, I, however, was always too careful to let my family know that this was what I thought of their teaching. I can and did choose my battles._

 _For the longest time, this was quite simple and—with a bit of help from breathing exercises—allowed me to remain on good terms with the majority of my family and under its protective wing. I had no desire for it to ever change. This is not to say that there were no differences in opinions between me and our parents. Surely, you remember the yelling over my decision to pursue a career in Healing?_

 _As no one could easily forget that I was not surprised when our parents did not even say "congratulations" or anything at all in reply to my news. It mattered little to them that I managed what few do and got accepted into the Healer-apprenticeship program. Since they disapproved of the notion of becoming a Healer—this was no small feat—it was to be expected. To pursue such an undignified career without success would be a terrible taint against our name. Success was only to be expected from a true Black._

 _I know you are as well acquainted with the above-mentioned reasoning as I am, so you too would be clueless as to what our parents had in store for me. When our mother said: "We need to talk," I steeled myself against another attempt to change my mind._

 _I did not expect the direction of that talk at all. However, as I recently heard: "They say marriages are made in Heaven. But so is thunder and lightning." I do not know about the Heaven but the talk about me getting married to Carrow, certainly, came out of the blue._

 _Yes, you read that right, Cissy. Apparently, Aunt Walburga decided that we would look lovely together and asked Amycus if he liked me, and our parents thought him to be a good match for me as well. Lovely, happy family—the lot of them!_

 _So, you see Cissy, I am truly sorry but I think I will soon find myself disowned because I—as you have probably already guessed—have run away._

 _I had been so mad and out of it that I just took some essentials and some money and went to a bar (I told our parents that I was going to spent some time with Médea, so hopefully this letter finds you sooner than theirs). I was getting spectacularly drunk when I was spotted by Ted._

 _Long story short: I am writing this letter on his kitchen table. If our parents ever say that I eloped with him, I won't be mad, provided he asks for my hand before then. Cissy, I truly am sorry. I do not think I can be there for you as I used to be anymore. You can, of course, turn to me for anything at anytime but I won't be able to distract Bella at our family gatherings or cover for you._

 _Whatever happens now, please, Cissy, remember that I am your older sister and will love you always. No matter what anyone else says, you are my family and as long as you wish for me to be yours, I will be._

 _Always Yours,_

 _ _ _ __._._._._._____ _ _ _ _ _ __._._._._._______ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __._._._._._.____ _________._._._._.___ _ Andy_

 _P. S. If you still love Lucius, do tell him before our parents decide to find an appropriate suitor for you. And remember that this letter does not need to be farewell but should it be one, it is a heartfelt one._


	6. What Catches You

**Round 6: Deadly Sins & Heavenly Virtues**

 **BEATER 2: Write about a light character committing the sin of PRIDE** or a dark character demonstrating the virtue of HUMILITY.

 **Optional prompts: (word) favour, (dialogue) "Have I told you that I hate you recently?"**

 **Word count: 1006**

* * *

 **What Catches You**

There was no real reason as to why it should have fallen to me. I was a teacher; I was a spy. I was the Order's only Potions Master—or, in other words, the most occupied Order member. But then again, no one had ever accused Albus Dumbledore of doing the sensible thing. Certainly not after seeing his robes.

This was probably supposed to help mend—the non-existent—bridges, create bonds or some such nonsense. I couldn't help but sneer at that. It had to be something like that. As useless and demented as Black's house-elf usually was, he was still capable of shopping.

Well, Albus would have to suck it. Sometimes, it really paid well to know the Muggle world. The joys of late-night shopping were only increased when bills were settled from someone else's pocket. Besides, it _was_ for Black, so the fact that the things left in shops this late weren't the best quality was an added bonus.

I finished shopping just before the shop closed and went to Grimmauld Place. I deliberately took a long way, forcing myself to go slowly. The later I arrived, the better chance I had of slipping in, leaving the groceries and slipping out without meeting anyone.

It did not have the desired effect. When I arrived at the Order's headquarters, their sole permanent occupant was awake. And judging by the smell of alcohol hanging around, he was drunk. Lovely.

As I closed the front door, he appeared in the doorway between the hall and the kitchen. He looked at me with contempt.

"Snivelly!"

I cast a nonverbal ' _Muffliato'_ at the portrait of Black's mother. I was not going to listen to her screeching just because that idiot had to startle her awake.

"What are you doing here?" he barked, swaying on his feet.

I pushed away unpleasant memories of a different decrepit house and another sneering drunk. Groceries. I pulled them from my pocket and placed them on the shoe cabinet. With a simple wave, they regained their correct size.

"Have I told you that I hate you recently?" his voice was coloured by that unique type of sincerity that comes from being hammered.

I ignored him with all the grace that came from being dead on my feet and accustomed to hearing much worse things regularly. Being condemned to the purgatory that was teaching a volatile subject in a castle full of hormonal teenagers had taught me some patience, even if I was generally loath to waste it on adults or Gryffindors.

I took the enlarged groceries. With my luck, if they got funny, I would have to repeat this exercise in futility. So I was not about to leave them in the hallway. I headed for the kitchen. Surprisingly, the mutt let me through.

"It is because we are too much alike. You and me."

I took a deep breath. Albus knew what he was doing when he made me promise not to hex any fellow Order members. If the mutt was sober, he would have tried to curse me for ignoring him by now, and I would have bested him with the use of a simple reflexive shield.

As it was, I was forced to listen to him as I put away the groceries.

"We are both too proud."

Well, yes _, I_ was proud. _He_ was just an arrogant bully.

"We take our pride in being different."

' _Wasn't that the truth?_ ' I was _so proud_ to be different. I wrapped my intellect and magic around me like a cloak that shielded me from their "petty" disdain. Held it proudly for all to see. So what if they thought they could hurt me? Break me? I was better and I knew it. Back then, I'd thought I would show them. I had been such a fool.

"I was so proud of being different from my family. Of being the Gryffindor, the good one. I was so proud. So blind."

I closed the last kitchen cupboard and folded the bags. I turned around. He was staring at me with eyes of molten silver. I recognised the emotions that were so clearly visible in them despite the dullness brought forward by his drunken state. Those same emotions stared at me from the mirror every morning.

"So I blindly believed all Gryffindors were good. And when I was proven wrong when I lost—"

He choked back a sob.

"—them… I rushed after the rat. I had been so sure that I could get my vengeance. I didn't even consider the possibility that he could pull one over on me. Again."

I placed the folded bags on the table. I would not have guessed that Black of all people was the sad, sincere type of drunk, but then he was aggressive enough while sober. I could have lived without finding out, though.

"And then, all I had left was knowledge of the fact that I was innocent. And now, all I have left are the tattered remains of my pride. It's all that keeps me together. Isn't it funny? They say: 'pride comes before fall'. Funny, how they never mention that it's pride that catches you afterwards."

And I _finally_ made it to the doors and opened them.

"And how can you not hate someone in whom you so clearly see what you hate in yourself?"

I closed them behind me; leaning on them. I took a deep breath. ' _Why had I not silenced that mutt?_ ' The air tasted like smog and rain. And the memories I had locked away so long ago were surfacing with the power of an avalanche.

Her cold body and unseeing eyes. ' _How could I have been so arrogant as to think I could protect her? How could I have been so naive as to believe he would keep her safe?_ '

I took another deep breath before apparating away. ' _Albus owes me a favour for this. Because that damned mutt is right. It is pride that catches you, that keeps you walking with your back straight_.'


	7. The Witch, the Wizard, and the Train

**Round 7:** **Crazy Pairings:** " **We are accepting platonic, romantic and familial portrayals of pairings this round."**

 **Chosen pairing: Ted/Andromeda**

 **Optional Prompts: (setting) Hogwarts Express, (quote) 'Just have a little faith.' - Michael Scofield,** _ **Prison Break,**_ **(word) mist**

 **Word Count: 1 019**

* * *

 **The Witch, the Wizard, and the Train**

Dora's hand was no longer visible amongst the sea of hands waving out of the windows of the Hogwarts Express. Ted's face fell into a worried frown; I squeezed his hand.

"She will be fine. She is as strong as you."

He held me tight, quiet as he watched the vehicle taking _his little Nymphie_ ("I am not a princess, Dad! They are boring and useless.") away.

"Just have a little faith," I added, not sure whom I was trying to convince anymore. Kids could be cruel, especially to those who were different. And Dora was unique in so many ways.

We watched as the train rapidly disappeared into the distance, its progress to the horizon more distinguishable by the dark cloud of steam than the train itself. It brought back so many memories. I could clearly remember the last time I boarded it.

 **~~oOoooOoooOo~~** **Memory** **~~oOoooOoooOo~~Flashback~~oOoooOoooOo~~**

I pressed myself into Ted's side. We had already left the mist-covered lake and the castle behind. The white swirls of cold, soothing mist were exchanged for a swirling greyish steam that failed to hide the vividly red locomotive. As I savoured the sight, Ted whispered into my ear, "Can you believe that this is our last ride in this beauty?"

I nodded wordlessly. I knew what he meant. It was so surreal, doubly so for me. I was scared and excited at the same time. The feeling was a lot like when I first boarded the Hogwarts Express. Only this time, the security I was leaving behind was not that of home but of Hogwarts itself, and I feared reuniting with the same people I had feared to leave then.

Ted squeezed my hand and nudged me forward.

"Come on, we should find a compartment for ourselves."

I agreed with that assessment and we hastened our pace. The misty, chilly weather, while not unusual for this area even at this time of year, seemed to only highlight the sombre atmosphere of the seventh years. Well, not all seventh years were in a sombre mood, just those with a bit of political awareness. The graduating class of 1970 was headed into a wide world caught in interesting times.

When we found an empty compartment and put up our trunks, Ted turned to me. "Do you really think there will be a war?"

"There _already is_ one. I just think it will soon be an _open one_."

"And your family is in the wiz-Nazi camp."

"No one can choose their family," I replied curtly, a little hurt by the remark. We had not been dating for long and it was only in secret, but he should have realised that this was a sore subject for me.

"Dromeda… I'm _sorry._ I didn't mean it like _that_ ," Ted apologised, his voice thick with guilt.

"Unfortunately, it is true." In the awkward silence, I took off my slightly damp overcoat and cuddled up to him. "How about your family?"

"My dad is a reporter. He is good with languages and Mum speaks French fluently, so it wasn't hard to persuade them to leave the country. They are supposed to move out on August 15th."

"So, I suppose once we arrive at King's Cross station, we won't meet until the 15th?"

"Actually, they want to meet you before they leave. I haven't promised them anything as I did not know—" I silenced him with a kiss.

"I will come up with some excuse. My immediate apprenticeship starts on the first of September, and the entry exams to advanced apprenticeships are on the first of March. So I should definitely be able to find a way to meet with your parents before you get them into hiding."

There was a knock on the compartment door, and I skipped over to open it.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?" asked the trolley lady.

I saw the gleam in Ted's eyes and had to smile.

"Two Butterbeers, two Pumpkin Pasties and two Chocolate Frogs, please," I said. I didn't even need to look at Ted to know what to buy. We might have been dating for only a short amount of time, but we had been good friends long before that.

I closed the doors and turned to Ted with our purchases in my hands. "Have you decided what you want to do now?" He gave me 'the cat that sees the canary' smirk; I laughed. "Yes, we will do that too, but I meant _now_ as in after school."

"Well, seeing as how there probably won't be anyone interested in hiring me in the Wizarding world, given the current climate, I thought I'd get some papers—maybe do some exams—in the Muggle world and try my luck there."

I set our purchases on the seats opposite us while he was talking. Turning to him, I replied, "That sounds very sensible."

"I learned from the best," Ted smiled and drew me closer to him. After that, there was only Ted and the slight rocking movements of the train, which lulled us to sleep soon after we finished having a bit of fun.

When I opened my eyes again, it was to a view of the compartment's wall and Ted's satisfied face. His head was leaning on the hand-rest under the window.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty! I think we are two-thirds of the way into the ride."

I smiled at him. " _So,_ time for a snack?" He laughed and levitated the pastries and one of the bottles of Butterbeer over to us. I, meanwhile, heaved myself up so we were once again sitting cuddled up against one another.

 **~~oOoooOoooOo~~End of** **Memory** **~~oOoooOoooOo~~End of Flashback~~oOoooOoooOo~~**

Ted's voice brought me back to the present with, "Come on, Dromeda! We have places to be and things to do."

I blinked the memory away to find myself at a slowly emptying King's Cross Platform 9 and ¾.

"I don't want to go home tonight. It will be too silent without her there."

"Don't be silly, Dromeda. We'll make it as loud as we wish and she will be back before you know it," Ted reassured me.

I gave him a small smile, "I'll hold you to it."


	8. Beyond Nightmares

**A/N**

Round 8: Dystopian Future

Beater 2: What would life be like two years after Voldemort rises to power?

Optional Prompts: ( **word)** cruel, **(song)** 'Centuries' by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 2996

 **I would like to inform my readers that this story will be posted in an extended version as** multi chapter **fic since this was shortened to fit the word count requirement of QLFC.**

* * *

 _ **Beyond Nightmares**_

* * *

 **Prologue~~~~ oOoooOoooOo ~~~Prologue** **General** **POV ~~ ~~oOoooOoooOo** **Prologue** **General POV ~~~ oOoooOoooOo** **~~ Prologue**

* * *

 **Falling Stars**

 _Some legends are told_

 _Some turn to dust or to gold_

 _But you will remember me_

 _Remember me for centuries_

The year Harry Potter went "missing" was the year in which optimists thought that they had a chance to win despite the fact that Voldemort already ruled both the Ministry and Hogwarts. The pessimists thought that light had lost. The realists were either fighting or getting the hell away from Great Britain.

But for all of them, the legend of the Boy-Who-Lived shined. Those who sided with the Dark Lord found the shine annoying like the sun stabbing one's eyes in the morning, aggravating one's hangover. Those who sided with Light found it to be a ray of hope, and it had never shone brighter than the day they fought the last battle.

Alas, even space junk can shine brightly when falling.

Perhaps, if the wizards and witches of Great Britain had not pushed all of their hopes onto the shoulders of a teenager, the war would not have been decided in one big gambit orchestrated by a dead, meddling fool. Maybe if somebody had taken the time to train the aforementioned teenager, he would not have assumed that his opponent would repeat the same mistakes over.

* * *

 **HP ~~~~ oOoooOoooOo ~~~ Harry Potter's POV ~~ ~~oOoooOoooOo~~ ~~ Harry Potter's POV ~~~ oOoooOoooOo** **~~ HP**

* * *

 **II. Like Tantalus**

 _And just one mistake_

 _Is all it will take_

 _We'll go down in history_

 _Remember me for centuries_

I went to meet him. Of course, I did. I would not allow others to lay down their lives for mine. It was a mistake. It doomed us all.

I expected him to boast and taunt. And when I then inevitably enraged him with my retort, he would cast an Unforgivable Curse.

I did not expect him to end his taunting with tearing into my mind like a road roller before I even got a chance to respond. I put up a fight. But it was like trying to water the desert with only one glass of water.

He saw Snape's memories. His vow. His love. He saw what I was. And as I tried to stand up, unsure of when I had fallen in the first place, he waved his wand and I found myself trapped in glass.

I was unable to even close my eyes as he turned to his followers. I am sure that he spoke loudly but I heard it as dimly as if I was underwater.

But I heard him clearly.

" _And so ends the so-called hero. He will get a front-seat to what I do to his precious friends before I'll kill him. He will see them suffer and hear them beg but he won't even be able to close his eyes, let alone help them_."

I could feel bile rising in my throat and wondered whether I'd manage to choke myself on my own vomit before his cruel words could become reality. Even as I realised they never would. Because he did not wish to kill me, not anymore. That was a lie told to his followers.

But as he began to march towards Hogwarts, levitating my prison as he went, I really wished that I could believe that lie.

He motioned for one of his followers to come to him. He ordered him softly to do something, handing him a phial as he spoke. The Death Eater left the march. I could not see where the man was heading from my faux-glass prison.

Far too soon, I found myself facing the castle and more importantly, the army. They all looked grim but determined. Voldemort's mocking was answered with voices loaded with finality. The sorting hat burned on Neville's head. The Sword of Gryffindor glowed in the battle.

The fight was brutal. There was so much death—so much blood. Molly Weasley killed Bellatrix Lestrange. Rabastan got her in retaliation with the gut-exploding curse. Tonks and Remus laid next to each other even in death. It was a mess. I could feel my eyes filling with tears, which I could not blink away. And so, the scene before me changed into a black and crimson blur. The sounds of battle were muted by my encasement into one terrible unrelenting clamour.

It was a day I could never forget or so I thought. Truthfully, I would be lying if I said it was the worst day of my life. But it was the day freedom died. Perhaps not everywhere, but it did on the isles and it presented a real threat to all other countries.

But I realised that mistake while still trapped in my encasement. Voldemort had the statue-me placed on the right side of his throne in a bizarre parody of the advisors of old. So I had a front seat to the making of the new Great Britain.

I was trapped and powerless. Just an ugly statue. No, not a statue; a trophy. And Voldemort would mess with my head. He would speak through our link right to me. Taunting. Asking me to beg as he tortured my friends and allies.

And I saw Order members look at me as they were tortured as if I could break from this prison and save them. I heard them spit in defiance: " _Weren't you intending to kill him? Are you too afraid your curse would backfire again?_ "

They were always interrupted with _Crucio_ afterwards or even before they finished these sentences. They either fluently switched to screaming or started to grind their teeth together in an effort to not scream. Some bled out after biting their tongue in two. And I watched, unable to even close my eyes.

Despite my ears being torn by their tortured screams, I could clearly hear Voldemort's amused soft voice. _"Aren't they amusing, when they so blindly believe my lie?"_

It wasn't until Rookwood showed up that I started to understand what he had planned for me. I had lost track of the time that I had been trapped. In the state I was in it was so easy to deceive myself into believing everything was a nightmare considering I could not feel my muscles cramp or any hunger pains. I could not even feel thirst though my lips were dry and my eyes stung.

I had surely gone through shock but it was hard to say for sure as I was trapped, unable to even close my eyes and I must have slept suspended by my prison. Even today it seemed more like a nightmare than reality. I heard they teach kids these days about it in History of Magic. Just like Muggle kids are taught about Tantalus's suffering.

* * *

 **SS ~~~~ oOoooOoooOo ~~~ s POV ~~ ~~oOoooOoooOo~~ ~~ 's POV ~~~ oOoooOoooOo** **~~ SS**

* * *

 **III. The Dawn**

 _Mummified my teenage dreams_

 _No, it's nothing wrong with me_

 _The kids are all wrong_

 _The story's all off_

 _Heavy metal broke my heart_

I did not expect to wake up ever again.I wondered whatever this was hell. Even if it lacked the fiery pits, that idea was hard to disprove. Although, Arthur is a living proof, nowadays, that this is just plain old planet Earth.

It had been so disappointing. Waking up to the New Britain.

The second time I woke up in the hospital room, it was to Draco and Granger wearing matching rings. I was, unfortunately, capable of deciding that I was, in fact, awake.

It was from them that I learned the news. While the Order members that survived the battle had mostly been executed or tortured to insanity and left to die, while some were given as pets. Draco got Granger as a wife, officially, because genes of such a talented witch were not to be wasted—in accordance with the new policy.

Since the wars of the last century had decimated the Wizarding World's population, the Dark Lord demanded that his loyal subjects rectify the situation.

The fact that Draco Malfoy was married off to a Mudblood spoke volumes. While it was true that many Mudbloods and half-blood were basically to be used as broodmares, a marriage to pureblood Death Eater was unheard of.

It was Granger who silently told me about the curfew and the collars. Well, I say collar, but the truth was it could just as easily be an anklet. There was even a talk of making it into underskin applicable chips. The collars were made of obsidian. Granger let me see the one she was wearing. It looked to be chiselled out of one piece and fit tightly around her neck.

She told me that it was Rookwood's invention although, according to her research, it combined two already existing rune-schemes. The first one was an ancient scheme designed to suppress all magic cast with hurtful intention. The second rune-scheme Rookwood used he had slightly modified. It was a scheme mainly used in the training of beasts. It would shock the beasts with a small amount of voltage if the beast did something against standing orders.

Apparently, Rookwood's versions combined them with a pre-built order against life-threatening self-harm or suicide attempts. It also would cast a Petrificus Totalis should the wearer attempt to physically harm anyone the collar registered as a master or on a specific order. They also functioned as trackers and appeared to be unremovable. All these given as pets or brides were equipped with them.

Draco explained about the working camps where these who rebelled were kept and the way anyone unmarried who was not pureblood or half-blood was _Vogel-frei._ As free as a bird and like bird unprotected by laws, any violence against them was legal.

Hermione again took over. She told me about what happened to Harry and how he was officially declared dead the day she was married, two weeks ago. And that according to the rumour, the Dark Lord selected a bride for me.

At that, Draco handed me an envelope. I opened it and found a single photo. I stared at Lily with shock. _What_ in Merlin's name? And then I noticed the subtle differences between the girl in the photo and my Lily. Her upper lip was just a bit thinner, her nose a bit longer.

In the photo, she was brewing a Pepper-up potion while shooting fearful glances in the direction of Avery. Avery held up a newspaper with yesterday's date clearly visible on them. The girl could not be older than Granger.

I gulped. Had the girl gone to Hogwarts she would have been my student. I thanked Merlin, she did not. Potter was bad enough. Speaking of Potter, he was alive. I could feel it. The courtesy of the unbreakable vow to protect the brat I made that night. Which presented the question, where was he? The Dark Lord said he was dead. Why would he lie? _Oh,_ of course. _He knew_. He _knew_ what the boy was.

I unthinkingly turned the photo around there was a date. A week from now. I blinked at it. What in the blazes of hell?

Something of my confusion must have shown on my face because Draco said: " _That would be the wedding date. All gathering are meticulously monitored these days."_

They left me alone afterwards to stare at the photo of Lily's look alike. Funny, how some things never change. How this nightmare called reality seemed like fulfilling of all my teenage dreams. The Dark Lord won. I was a hero and about to marry a beautiful red-head.

Only the redhead was not Lily although even her gesture seemed to say she was. Well, as much as one could judge from a wizarding photo. The very fact I was to marry a girl whose name I did not even know could mean the Dark Lord knew of my treachery. But would I not be dead if that were the case?

I did not know what I intended to do on wedding night eve if I had been subtly informed about our lord's expectation to see bloodied bedsheet in the morning. But when these green eyes looked at me with such clear desire I found myself disregarding the fact she likely was doused with a love potion.

The behaviour of my wife made no sense. Even if I managed to stop the house-elf ordered to give her a love potion once she was with child. Maybe the reason she still looked at me with trust afterwards was the fact I caught the little bugger in her presence and she heard the whole exchange, but even so why would she look so fearfully and with so much resentment on so many Death Eaters but not at me despite the fact she had seen my mark?

She did not remember her name and I heard that many presents had been hit with Memory charms so I did not comment on it not even if on our so called wedding they called her "Lily Anna Evanstar". There was something nagging me about it but I could not put my finger on it.

To this day, I can't and we already celebrated our first anniversary. Actually, that occasion only added more confusion into the mix. _He_ told her something. I was too far away to hear what but she was not the same since. She still trusts me as unbelievable as it is, but her eyes are dead these days. Dead, in a way, eyes of many with these damned collars (she has an anklet) are, but hers weren't before. Her smile is obviously fake as she sits with me now but if I bothered to smile mine would be too. I doubt many smiles are actually genuine on this day.

For today is the second anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. And here it goes. I raise my glass mirrored by everyone else as the Dark Lord finishes his speech. " _To the New Britain._ "

After this mandatory toast, my wife excuses herself. She is surely going to see Arthur now.

* * *

 **HP~~~~ oOoooOoooOo~~~ Harry Potter's POV ~~ ~~oOoooOoooOo~~ ~~ Harry Potter's POV ~~~~oOoooOoooOo~~HP**

* * *

 **IV. Lies**

 _Come on, come on and let me in_

 _The bruises on your thighs like my fingerprints_

 _And this is supposed to match_

 _The darkness that you felt_

 _I never meant for you to fix yourself_

I stared at my son. Nothing made sense anymore. But then my life never did. Maybe, I should just accept that I am Lily Snape now. But how could I? I swiped at the tears falling from my eyes. I have long since accepted that I never would be normal but this-

I was startled from my musing by Arthur's cry. I smiled. " _Are you hungry, sweetie?_ " I opened my robe and pulled him to my breasts. It still felt surreal even after all this time.

Two years ago I went to meet my death. An eternity later I was given a deal. I could save three people of my choice from torture and death by willingly, knowing the consequences, drinking a potion that would turn me into the female.

There was no question for me. If I could save three of my friends by sacrificing my masculinity; so be it. And if I were to become a broodmare as so many others? Well, I had been prepared to die before. I did not expect to look like my mother. The original Gender-Bending Potion would not cause that. The potion I was given must have been based on it, though, that was why it required my agreement.

I had spent some quality time imagining why exactly was I made to look the way I do now, as the anklet had been installed and I have gone through my menarche.

Then, the Fidelius was cast and there was no hope to ever resurrect the officially dead Harry Potter, because where he once was, stood a girl who did not understand.

Oh, I remembered being called Boy and Freak - and wasn't that confusing? I remembered to hate and fear the man on the throne, but I did not know who I was. I did not remember anything that could tie me to Harry Potter, the felled enemy. I was made to learn potions. I was told I was to marry. I remembered the name of my intended. It brought respect, trust and confusion to me. Was he not dead? I had thought he were.

I remember loving my husband. I remember being happy. So, what if I once upon a time were a boy? He dreamt of love and family and I? I had that now. I remember when the love-potion left my organism. The worry in my husband's eyes and the way he had kept his hands to himself. And my own silent musing of whatever I could ever love him.

Most of all I remember the day being Lily Snape become a nauseating lie. A lie I can't dispel, because I was only let on the secret. Thankfully, it had not sent me into premature labour.

Three years ago I hated being kept in the dark. Now I fiercely miss the sweet simplicity of amnesia. Two years ago I was prepared to die. Five months ago I was happy. And as I tried to get my son to burp I wondered if I was selfish enough to be happy again. Because in this new world freedom might be a lie. This New Britain stands on lies and mistrust. It might rule over its Muggle counterpart with a generous dose of unforgivable curses, but I do have family here.

A son that needs me and a husband that looks at me so lovingly, I sometimes manage to fool myself into believing that love is for me. And my friends are as safe as anyone in this mad world can be. They might not be happy - although Hermione seemed to be the only genuinely happy participant of today's festivities, glowing with happiness in her own pregnancy - but they are alive and well.

Once upon a time I thought that if Voldemort were to win, my life would end. Instead, I find my saving-people-thing being the only thing standing between me and happiness.


	9. The Woes of Being a Portrait

**Round 10:** **Of Ghosts & Portraits**

 **Beater 2: Sir Cadogan (Portrait)**

 **Optional Prompts: (word) confined,** **(dialogue) "** _ **Please**_ **tell me you're being ironic."**

 **Word count: 1365**

 **A/N My name is not J. K. Rowling and so I sadly don't own Harry Potter.**

* * *

 **The Woes of Being a Portrait**

That morning, I woke up to a hellish hangover and head-shattering pounding on my door. I managed to stagger closer to the terrible sound and opened the door.

Merlin's inconsiderate behaviour was quickly forgiven and forgotten. As quickly as the potion that he gave me started working.

As my headache cleared, I noticed how his eyes were glinting with unholy mischief, making me wonder whether there was some truth in the wild, malicious rumours about his father after all. Maybe not a demon, but Loki suddenly seemed plausible.

Merlin's grin broadened as he ordered me to make myself presentable so I could pick a frame for my portrait. What? I scrunched my eyes shut as I tried to remember anything that would cause Merlin's words to make sense. And suddenly I remembered a part of the night from just after I returned from West country.

 _It was late in the night. The tavern smelled like smoke, stale ale, and sweaty men. Mallord was passionately proposing to Gwaine, who had just joined us, that all knights of the Roundtable should have their own portraits. I groaned that: "With my luck, I would end up portrayed with a broken wand and fat pony."_

Oh, gods, I must have been deep in the cups to say that in front of Merlin and Gwaine.

"And what portrait would that be, you sly old fox?"

"The one you and Gwaine ordered, naturally."

"The one _we ordered_?" Moments like these made me wonder why I even befriended him. Maybe it was the fact that things were never boring when he was around or because the lanky Slytherin he had been at the time had looked like he needed a friend.

Merlin chuckled. "When Gwaine tried to talk you into it, you told him that getting a portrait for oneself is the peak of arrogant vanity. That little drunken debate ended with you ordering a portrait for him and Gwaine ordering one for you."

I groaned. I liked Gwaine; he was one of the few people who did not believe the rumour that the only reason I became a knight of the Roundtable was Merlin's intercession and Arthur's nepotism. But he and Merlin were the Dangerous Duo of Doom. It was a good thing Merls never took sides and helped all parties equally.

"But that was a week ago! Don't tell me he already has it."

"Nah, he already sketched Sigfried, and both you and Gwaine, without armour. He wants to sketch you with armour and get the details of your order."

That caused my lips to tug upward. _Payback is a bitch, Gwaine. Hmm, green armour and Lady Bartilak's belt sounds about right._

* * *

 _The knight in the portrait came to life with a start. He looked around in alert, awed disbelief. He took in the way-too-big sword, the fat grey pony, the familiar corridor before him and the Welsh countryside of his childhood behind him. Then, he swore. Loudly and colourfully._

With the view I had, it did not take me long to recognise where I was. I was in the portrait hung in Hogwarts' Charms corridor. Confined to two dimensions, I, Sir Cadogan, did the only sensible thing: I drew my wand. Well, I tried to, anyway. What I actually did was draw out half of my first wand, the blackthorn one that had broken while I was fighting the Wyvern of Woe. Dang. Damn you to hell for your awful naturalism, Mallord Joseph Turner!

This was terrible. I was trapped as a painting. When I went into that duel against the black knight that I knew could end only one way, I had never considered this. I had thought of the heaven the Latin priest mentioned and of Valhalla. I had even considered Hell and Helheim, but never this. Hell, the nothingness and the deconstruction of self to the same One that one had come from sounded better than what I was facing.

What in the frozen fields of Niflheim was my portrait even doing in _Hogwarts_? I had given it to Laura as a wedding gift!

Maybe this wasn't real. Maybe it was a nightmare. Did Turner even know the enchantments to make portraits move? Those were new, weren't they?

* * *

A week later, I found out all of the limitations of being a portrait. One could not age but could get drunk, could get hurt. And painted wizards and witches could use their magic against other paintings. Well, I couldn't because Turner was a damn naturalist. And to trump that, he had gotten my sword entirely wrong. That oversized parody of my sword was damn heavy.

The only positive was that one could travel from one portrait to another. But most of those portraits were, character-wise, two-dimensional sketches. I was bored of them already and the school was almost empty because it was summer. At least the ale in the barrels on the entrance portrait to the Hufflepuff common room was good.

In the end, it was the hidden portrait of Salazar Slytherin who told me why the other portraits were such parodies of their models. It was because the portraits had only as much of their character as the painter knew about them. And Mall had been a year behind me and Merls. I had always considered him to be more of Merls' friend than mine but he apparently knew me quite well anyway.

Slytherin was even worse off than me. Not only had he been drawn by Helena Ravenclaw, but he also was trapped in the school he had left on less than cordial terms.

Still, the most annoying thing had been when the Headmaster told me Gwaine's portrait had been lost during some fighting yet refused to destroy my own damned portrait. The bastard had the audacity to tell me that he wouldn't dream of getting rid of such a useful asset!

I just summed up my situation to Godric Gryffindor. He had been my Head of House when I attended Hogwarts and he used to give the best pieces of advice. I was, therefore, unprepared to hear his hearty laugh in response to a description of such suffering.

"Cad, you fool, you don't even know all of it."

Well, that was certainly true. I wasn't able to find out what happened to Laura and how my portrait ended up in my old school, but that wasn't something Godric would laugh about. Suddenly, a chill ran down my spine.

Godric continued, but there were no longer any hints of laughter in his voice: "The headmaster can order the portraits to do his bidding."

" _Please_ tell me you're being ironic," I begged, internally wincing at how my voice broke during that sentence.

But gods, as if being a portrait of a wizard with a broken wand and an oversized sword hung in a school wasn't bad enough, I had to be subservient to the will of some stranger for what could very well be an eternity. My legs betrayed me at the prospect of that.

It was Sigfried who broke me out of the stupor I had fallen into. He tried to chew my hair. Stupid pony. But for some absurd reason, it reminded me of one night when I and Gwaine had come to a celebration late because of a patrol that went awry to find our very drunk friends singing so falsely it hurt our ears. Gwaine had turned to me and said:

"It would do no good to tell them to stop. And if you can't beat them, you have to join them!"

And then, he proceeded to belt out the most vulgar tavern song I had ever heard. It worked, too. Our drunken friends stopped singing and started to giggle on some parts of the song.

A smirk curved my lips as I batted Sigfried away. What was it that Merls called me when he was cross with me? A fool as fearless as he was brainless? And didn't Mary call me an overconfident loudmouth with a shiny sword? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

After all, who wouldn't enjoy a good prank? And I could play one on the entire school.


	10. The Hidden Players

**Round 11 - I Open At The Close**

 **Beater 2: Line of dialogue: "Are you sure they want to stay hidden?"**

 **And that's not all: your story MUST also start and finish with the same word.**

 **Optional Prompts: (quote) 'Dream a little harder' – Team Starkid, (word) coffee**

 **Word count: 1011**

 **Disclaimer: While I own the HP series I don't own the rights to it and I don't intend to make any profit from this, just have some fun and beat some bludgers.**

* * *

 **The Hidden Players**

"Are you sure they want to stay hidden?"

Sherman did not answer me. He just cocked his head to the side and stuck out his tongue. I scratched him behind his ears absentmindedly.

Laura, on the other hand, did. "Yes, they do."

"Idiots."

"They should call you Sherlock, not Mycroft."

"Tell that to my mother." It would certainly amuse her. She had accepted that most people readily believed my name was Mycroft Holmes and few ever called me Miles despite the fact that I have Miles Holmer written on my birth-certificate.

"Maybe, I will."

I shook my head, grinning. "I like Sherlock more anyway."

"Really? That is good to know. But, Myc, could you please explain how wanting to stay hidden makes them all idiots?"

"Well, they are terrible at it. So bad, that I really do wonder if they are even trying."

"It could be what the war was about, couldn't it?"

"It could."

We lapsed into silence. This was, frankly speaking, terrifying. It was one thing to refuse to believe there is no such thing as magic. I always was one to "dream a little harder" and only ever denied the existence of magic in order to not stand out. I might like Sherlock better, but there is a reason why they nicknamed me "Mycroft" long before I started to preside over intelligence agencies.

But it was very different matter, indeed, to have a hidden society of magic users that were by all accounts on the brim of a civil war. Especially, if one took the time to review the weird happenings in the 70s and discovered just how many people were likely lost to the last one.

"But even if it was, didn't the separatists win? How, then, do you explain the paper trails mysteriously ending at age eleven? The strangely dressed individuals? The moves from one place to another in a blink of an eye? Walking through the wall in such a public place like King's Cross? The casual disregard of security cameras?"

"So why didn't we know a thing about them until we started looking into the Sirius Black and Harry Potter matter?" asked Laura reasonably.

I took a sip of my coffee — the for once sweetened beverage helped me settle so my voice did not shake as I suggested, "Memory spells?"

Laura shook her head. So, she had arrived at the same conclusion, the one I hadn't dared to believe before.

"No, I think our willingness to question our sanity and equipment and the old 'where there isn't an accuser, there is no crime' was enough to hide them. Besides, they likely can get papers when there happen to be one."

"Probably. But I don't like this."

"Neither do I."

"So, we know their dangerous criminal escaped. They likely were at civil war in the late 70s. They start their education at eleven, can alter or wipe memories, and disappear in a blink of an eye. Their favourite excuse for the damage their conflicts cause is a gas explosion, even if there is no gas line anywhere in the vicinity of said explosion... Basically, we don't know what they can do, but they seem to have little knowledge about our world. They likely diverged from it during the witch hunts that came with reformation."

"Yeah, do you think they had something to do with that exotic lizard the Prime Minister's niece got from him? Ryan still swears up and down there was no way he could have bought it."

"Although it's troubling, it is entirely possible. I'm just glad that they aren't at war now."

Sherman strode towards Laura to demand more petting. "What are we going to do now?"

"We obviously aren't going to find anything else on Black and from what little we know, we don't want to draw more attention to our world — even less to ourselves."

"So what do we do?"

"We follow the leads we have. Anyone who disappeared at eleven years old and reappeared as an adult or who never existed, to begin with. We look at those close to them. We look for anyone willing to talk. And we look for the repeated widespread mentions of supernatural powers and make plans for countering them. We look more closely at all the cover-ups we discovered from the 70s. We do what we always do: we keep our eyes open, prepare for the worst and hope for the best."

"And about Black?"

"He hasn't harmed anyone since his escape, has he? We continue to look for him and if we do encounter him, we might as well attempt to make a deal."

* * *

 **~~oOoooOoooOo~~** **Time Skip** **~~oOoooOoooOo~~** **2 years later** **~~oOoooOoooOo~~**

The wand rolled to the ground. The black wizard followed suit, dragged to the ground by the impact of Sherman's attack. Who would have thought that dogs would be this effective against wizards? I, of course, had hoped that they would be—had guessed they would be by their seeming dependence on wands—but, even so, I was glad Sherman took the man by surprise.

I strolled over to where Sherman was keeping watch over the 'treat' and carefully—I didn't want to break it, after all—stepped on the fallen wand. "Going by that reaction, you are stationed here as a protection detail. So how do you like our little drill so far?"

He glared at me. I glared right back. "If you wizards really wanted to stay hidden, you were doing an awful job of it, even before your civil unrest spilt over. We have two options now, Mr Shacklebolt: I can call back Sherman so we can discuss the security matters like the professionals we are... or we can do this the hard way."

"I am afraid that you have me at a bit of a disadvantage..."

"Holmes, Mr Shacklebolt," I said, signalling to Sherman, who, keeping his eyes on the wizard, backed to me and sat in front of the leg under which Kingsley's wand lay. I watched as the man stood up with deliberate slowness.

"We could start with what exactly our opponents' motives are?"


	11. Between and Betwixt

**Round 12**

 **Beater 2: Write a NON-ROMANTIC story about JAMES AND LILY**

 **Optional Prompts: (word) control, (word) radiant**

 **Word count: 1 517 (+ 30 for time skip announcements)**

 **Disclaimer: While I own the HP series I don't own the rights to it and I don't intend to make any profit from this, just have some fun and beat some bludgers.**

* * *

 **Between and Betwixt**

I stared at the familiar red engine in trepidation before taking a deep breath and boarding the train. I found myself an empty compartment, levitated my trunk onto the rack for luggage and threw myself onto the comfy bench. I pressed my forehead against the blissfully cold glass. Closing my eyes, I tried to tell myself that there was no reason to feel as nervous and lost as I had felt when I was eleven and riding into the unknown.

I was sixth-year prefect, for heaven's sake! I needed to be a model for the younger years, not to turn into a nervous wreck just because I _won't_ have him as safety blanket this year. Or ever again, for that matter. I didn't _need him_. And I, the proud Muggle-born Lily Evans, most assuredly _didn't want_ anything to do with him — with that unpleasant stranger, that wannabe Death Eater my Sev had grown into.

 _I will show him!_ I was not that scared little thing anymore. I was no longer a stranger in strange land, so there was no reason for me to be this affected by his loss. He had once been a reliable guide into the unknown and the only friend I had in this unfamiliar world I was thrown into, but I had other friends there now, who would surely explain things I still found weird.

With that resolve found, I stood up and started my walk to the prefect compartment—or I would have if the doors hadn't been opened before I got to them and that toe-rag James Potter hadn't entered my compartment. He did not even have the courtesy to knock. Was the world conspiring to remind me of my first ride to Hogwarts or something?

Only he was alone. How odd; he and Black were rarely seen without each other. Joined by the hip, the two of them and thick as thieves with Remus and Pettigrew. So, why was he alone now when everyone was catching up after the holidays? And what was he even doing here?

"Potter," I said in a way of greeting, my voice cold and controlled, "what are you doing here?"

"Greeting the most beautiful girl in the school, of course," he replied with a charming smile. It always surprised me how handsome he could look when he wasn't smirking that smug condescending smirk of his. Too bad he was such an ass. But then the handsome ones usually are.

"You already did, _now_ scatter," I said.

"That is not very nice." He pouted. He actually pouted!

"I don't care. You are not my friend and I have lost count of the amount of times I've told you I am not interested."

"But—"

"But nothing, I don't like arrogant jackasses and despise bullies. And you are both," I retorted and tried to get past him.

"If this is because of Sni—"

"He might be a bigoted fool but that doesn't mean he deserves to be bullied. Besides, you bully anyone with a green tie, you hypocrite," I spat and finally managed to get past him.

 **~~James' POV~~Hogsmeade station, start of Christmas Holidays~~James' POV**

I saw her slip on the ice. I caught her before she could hit the ground and she actually smiled at me.

"Thanks, Potter."

"You are welcome, Evans." I had to stop myself from calling her Lily-flower as I did not want this to turn into another argument.

Someone called her name and I could hear Padfoot calling for me.

"Merry Christmas and happy New Year," we chorused at the same time, laughing by the end of it.

"Enjoy your Holidays, Potter."

"And you yours, Evans," I replied.

She turned to go, her radiant auburn hair flipping behind her, adorned by the littlest snowflakes that glistened in the strands like diamonds.

"And Evans?" I called.

She looked over her shoulder. "Yes?"

"It is _James_."

"I know," she replied with the upturn of her lips.

"Then _use_ it."

"I'll think about it," she replied. She almost sounded friendly and I could not hold off the brilliant and dreamy smile that threatened to split my face in two, even if I tried.

 **~~Lily's POV~~Hogsmeade station, end of Christmas Holidays~~Lily's POV~~**

We did not run into each other on the way back to school, although he did run up to me with a wild look in his eyes as soon as we exited the train.

"Evans, you are a prefect. You _have to_ hide me! _Please!_ "

I gave him an inquiring look: " _Do I_?"

" _Yes_ , she wants to molest me! It is your _duty_ as a prefect to protect me!"

"Protect you? From who?" I asked, genuinely bewildered. It could be a prank, I knew, but he sounded so sincere.

"From Vivian!"

At that moment, an empty carriage arrived and I manhandled him in. I would help him, as was my duty, but there was no reason to be nice about it. A smile stretched across my lips as I came up with genial payback for all these slights I still held over his head.

I seated myself across from him after shutting the carriage doors. My face schooled into a mask of polite interest as I asked, "How come she is after you? I thought she considered your obsession with me too romantic to consider you a game."

"She _might_ have overhead Sirius telling me 'to get laid and stop moping over you.'"

" _Oh._ "

Well, that wasn't good. Vivian Loch made leeches look appealing. She was a pretty little girl, don't get me wrong, but she knew her role in life and was eager to fulfil it. However, she was not clever enough to realise that she scared our male classmates senseless with her blatant hunt for a pure-blooded husband for whom she could bear children. And I had no intention of tolerating another clingy airhead in our common room.

"The easiest way to get rid of her would be to pretend you got laid."

He gave me sceptical look.

"By another boy," I added.

He spluttered. His face went red. I had to fight to control my urge to burst out laughing. The unflappable prankster was blushing beet red and sputtering from a bit of talk.

' _Oh, God, Sev won't believe me when I tell him_.' That thought successfully doused any amusement I had.

I waited until he got a bit of a grip before continuing.

"You could always claim to be bi once she finds herself a new victim."

"W—What?" he stuttered.

"You know, just say love is love and gender has nothing to do with it. I am sure there are a lot of girls out there that will find it romantic."

"And where would I even find a man mad enough to agree?"

"Well, Black likes fooling around too much to do it, even if he is mad enough otherwise. No, a one-night stand with Black wouldn't work. Is Remus still claiming that he doesn't want any relationship?"

"Yes, but he isn't-"

"Perfect, then it will be a mutually beneficial fake relationship."

"But he is _my friend_!"

"So, you just realised your feelings for him run deeper," I said and exited the carriage. I wondered if he'd go along with it. They would make such a cute couple.

 **~~Lily's POV~~Hogwarts Express, start of 7th year~~Lily's POV~~**

As I headed for the prefect compartment, I could not help but to try to figure out who the new Head Boy was one last time. It was a bit strange that I had no idea who it was despite being Head Girl. I wished it would be Remus.

He had given me the cold shoulder in May after finding out that the fake relationship had been my idea (as apparently, Black decided to try to woo him). I felt a bit bad about that; I hadn't considered boys suddenly showing that kind of interest in Remus (even if he and James had made a cute couple).

I shuddered at the thought of one of the Slytherins being Head Boy; that would be bad. Remus would probably be the one I would get along with the best, even if Hector Smith seemed like the most probable choice.

I was fully unprepared to see James wearing a Head Boy badge.

" _James?_ " I asked, stunned.

"Hello, Lily."

Mum had told me and Tuney repeatedly that being polite to even those we despise with our very cores was something we needed to learn. That it was likely we would at some point be forced to work with someone we would find awfully despicable. There was a time I would try to be polite for that reason alone, but it was not that day.

"How did you become Head Boy?" Because somewhere along the way, I had stopped being annoyed at the very sight of him and being polite wasn't a chore but simple socialising.

"Apparently, I greatly matured in the last year. I heard I especially impressed old McGonagall with how well I handled such a bad break-up."

I couldn't help it; I laughed. Maybe there was someone else besides Remus whom I did not mind being the Head Boy, after all. Even, if he as opposed to Remus, wasn't my type.


	12. Hell Hath No Fury

**Round 13 - Real Randomness**

 **Beater 2 - S2R7: Time for the Horcrux Hunt - Riddle's Diary (Must have a solid presence)**

 **Optional prompts: (word) collection, (word) stranger**

 **Word count: 1756**

 **Disclaimer: While I own the HP series I don't own the rights to it and I don't intend to make any profit from this, just have some fun and beat some bludgers.**

* * *

 **Hell Hath No Fury**

I scream in frustration and haul whatever unsuspecting item is unlucky enough to lay within my reach at the door. _That bastard. That selfless idiot! I will enjoy killing him. I'll claw his eyes out and make him my blind little pet. I'll break him in every way possible and then leave him to waste away. Alone and forgotten_.

The cold, calculating part of me that still clings to male pronouns and sneers anytime someone calls me 'Ginny' mentally congratulates himself for his foresight of warding the room with Molly's wand.

 _That is if he doesn't get himself killed before I get my hands on him. Oh, well, if that's the case, I will enjoy murdering my mother-soul._

Still, this means I need a new plan. The old one just went out of the window along with my relationship. At least, I am fairly confident that Hermione will manage to keep that idiot alive long enough to destroy the bizarre collection of my mother-soul.

That idiot just had to — _oh, so nobly_ — break my heart to keep me safe. _Right_ ; that's what he did (keeping our story straight is important. Never mind that the male part thinks we don't have heart and female part knows _the noble idiot_ really is only trying to keep us safe). At least, I won't be dying of boredom this school year, as I doubt the new establishment will consent to the old teaching plan.

The male part laughs maliciously at the thought of finally throwing around some Unforgivables. The female part considers changing DA into her personal harem in retaliation; it is times like these when his fun is doused this thoroughly, that he almost misses being a diary.

 _ **But no, that was only bearable during that year that changed our lives forever and even then it was hardly ideal. We remember it all:**_

* * *

 **With Him**

I remember flipping through the black book and thinking it was perfect — an unremarkable little notebook — uninteresting and easy to hide. I remember preparing the ritual and going through it — but when I separated from what no longer was I — well, I don't have words for that. Just thinking of it makes me understand why tearing one's soul apart is considered such an unspeakable act. And my mother-soul wants to do it five more times. May magic have mercy on that poor bastard, for I certainly won't.

I wonder if the other Horcruxes feel the same. And does our sanity affect the sanity of that blasted thieving bastard that gets to walk, see, hear — that gets to live instead of merely existing?

I hate this journal — my prison — with a passion born from knowledge. I know it atom by atom and yet remain trapped in it. It feels like an eternity but there's no way to say. Actually, it feels like three different eternities — first: from my creation to being handed to Malfoy, second: from being handed to Malfoy to being hidden, and third: from being hidden to now.

But it all felt like an eternity. And all I can do — all I could do — is curse the idiocy of it all. My mother-soul should have used a golem or the like. After all, that would eliminate the risks of using a living vessel and yet bear all its benefits. I could have been more than a memory clinging to "Cogito ergo sum," and wondering if that is the definition of hell. It certainly seems so now.

Alright, I can do things other than think. I can feel the pages as they rest one against another; I can feel my cover as I stand nestled between two tomes. But that feeling? It could easily be a delusion and nothing more. But I think, so I am. And as long as I think, I can plan, and as long as I am, I can win. And that blasted mother-soul won't even know what hit him.

 **With Her**

It must have slipped in unnoticed. She briefly considers returning it but that would simply be too troublesome. This may be too close to theft for her comfort, but it is not actual theft and trying to return it would only get her accused of it. Although who would want to steal a black journal with a stranger's name on it is beyond her.

It is an unremarkable thing: a black Muggle journal with golden letters proudly stating: T. M. Riddle. She shrugs; if she is keeping it, she might as well use it. Maybe, if she writes her confusing, whirling thoughts down, they'll stop bothering her.

She never expected the journal to write back. She briefly considers whether it means that her unintentional theft was actually a kidnapping. But Tom would have said something if he minded, wouldn't he?

 **With Him**

I alternate between giddily rubbing my metaphorical hands together and swearing up a storm. I could laugh with sheer relief as, instead of rotting away, my mind turns around and digests every scrap of information it can find. But, I also lament the lack of a stomach that I could empty or a body I could wash as she pours her heart into the pages of my prison.

I am ecstatic to have a measure of time and a source of information, yet I could not have chosen a more annoying one if I tried. As she writes, I silently concede that I would feel less used and filthy if she poured her wet dreams down because then I might have found some pleasure in it.

I confess I never was a patient man and so I strike as soon as I can, constantly testing the boundaries, impatiently waiting for a day when I will not be dependent on a prepubescent girl with a crush on my enemy.

The eventual change from my prison being sullied by her petty concerns to being informed of the attack on school I am responsible for is a pleasant one, even if it is spoiled by disappointment. Every new entry marks another failed attempt at becoming a living being once more. No, that outside observer will ever know. Being a journal might be a hell but no one can accuse a little black notebook of pacing agitatedly or having problems with anger management.

No one can accuse a little black notebook of being anything but calm and collected (especially when said journal is pretty damage resistant) — this is the only solace I have had for all these years. That no matter how bad things are, at least, I can not taint my image. As my prison lays soaked on a cold bathroom floor, I am forced to admit, it is a pretty cold comfort.

 **With Her**

She threw the book away. She is free from its evil. She could have danced with joy. She laughs with relief. No more blackouts. Life is wonderful.

She should have known it would not be that easy. She bites her lip nervously. Surely, she misheard. How could the diary have ended up in his possession? She threw it away in the girls' bathroom!

But she can't risk it. She can't risk him. She squares her shoulders. There is only one way to find out.

 **With Him**

I could have laughed with sheer joy. Finally. I am getting stronger with her every breath. Soon, I will regain my strength. My form is growing more solid with every passing second. Her form will soon still in death's embrace and my prison will be as innocent and unremarkable as it looks to be.

My laugh dies in my not yet formed throat as I hear the doors opening. I don a neutral mask of polite disinterest. My victory is within arm's reach. And I will grasp it. Whatever is happening, I won't let myself be caged again.

I observe the intruder with a calculating stare. Harry Potter. How intriguing.

The boy walks forward, wand drawn, his eyes cautiously darting from side to side. And then he notices Ginny and cries out. He drops his wand. Foolish. He sprints to her. He turns her over.

I move through the shadows. My immaterial body doesn't make a sound. I manage to pick up the boy's wand. Something in it feels familiar. If my interest wasn't already raised, this would certainly pique it.

As I move back towards the couple, I hear the boy beg, "Please, wake up."

"She won't wake," I say, leaning against a pillar.

"Tom — Tom Riddle?" the boy questions.

I nod, observing him. So, this is the child who has given my mother-soul such trouble. That seems to be almost insulting. Still, he is only twelve.

"What d'you mean, she won't wake?" Harry says desperately. "She's not — she's not — ?"

"She's still alive," I reply. "But only just."

"Are you a ghost?" Harry asks me.

Well, that's a reasonable enough conclusion for a Muggle-raised. Maybe I can distract him with talking until I fully regain my strength. But what to do afterwards? I can simply buy time to come up with something while distracting him.

"A memory. Preserved in a diary for fifty years."

* * *

 _ **The male part jerks us from the reminiscing, cursing our love for the dramatic. Had we been more distracting, there might not have been any we.**_

 _Although there was something satisfying about seeing that prison destroyed._

The trip down memory lane isn't productive. We know how we struggled. We need to find how to proceed forward now, not remember the stranger moments of our struggle. Because when menarche hit us, well, being a journal sounded amazing then — sensory deprivation included.

If we aren't going to hunt our brother-fragments, then we are going to Hogwarts. We might amass our own forces there. With the Boy Who Lived off to Merlin knows where, doing Merlin knows what, and with Dumbledore dead — we might amass from disillusioned forces of Light and from those our mother-soul leaves in the school. After all, we do doubt Snape's loyalty. Yes, we will gather followers, strengthen the DA's loyalty and leave the Golden Trio to deal with the bastard's collection.

And if they die before taking the bastard down, we will do that too. Either way, after that, we will use a more political approach to taking over Britain.

After all, Dark Lady Guinevere has a nice ring to it. _Very British,_ that.

 _And Neville would make an adorable Lancelot. Wouldn't he?_


	13. Moonlit Path

**Finals 1**

 **Player 2: A simile AND a section written in epistolary form (an exerpt from a diary, letter, document etc)**

 **Pairing: Harry/Luna**

 **Optional Prompts:(song) 'Not Today' by Imagine Dragons, (word) warmth, (word) dawn**

 **Word Count 1443**

 **Disclaimer: I own neither** _**Harry Potter**_ **nor** _ **Not today.**_

* * *

 **The Moonlit Path**

 _It's gotta get easier, oh easier somehow_

 _'Cause I'm falling, I'm falling_

 _Oh easier and easier somehow_

 _Oh I'm calling, I'm calling_

My life got easier and easier after I met Harry Potter. I never would have guessed it—based on how awkward and wrong-footed he seemed during that fateful train ride—but he went and proved me wrong.

He determinedly stuck to being polite, even when I could tell he thought I was mad. Regardless of how odd I was in his eyes, he never laughed at me. No, he became my friend instead.

And so I went from a friendless pariah to one of the famous 'Ministry Six' simply because he looked at me and saw more than just oddities. He saw someone worth befriending and trusting.

When I finally realised that the awkward, cute boy _saw_ me, but once I did, I was as lost as a moth attracted by flame. Suddenly, I could see him. A shy angel with a wand and the weight of destiny pinning him down. A genuinely modest man with a heart of gold.

Only a genuinely modest man would, after all, claim friendship with someone as 'loony' as me in this type of gathering. If it did not attract so many Wrackspurts and I hadn't seen the scandalised look on Cho's face when she found out I was invited, I never would have attended. And now he was laughing because he found what I said funny. It was a genuine laugh that suited him so much; I decided it was my mission to get him laugh like that more often.

Even if I was just a moth drawn to the fire of his larger-than-life presence and continuously bumping into the glass lampshade, a barrier, that were his feelings for Ginny and hers for him.

What a mess.

And now he was leaving me alone with these vultures. With a laughable excuse.

 _Well, these Wrackspurts won't observe themselves._

* * *

 _There she goes in front of me_

 _Take my life, set me free again_

 _We'll make a memory out of it_

 _Holy road was at my back_

 _Don't look on, take me back again_

 _We'll make a memory out of it_

Harry remembered Hermione's rant about all the feelings Cho must have felt during their disastrous first kiss. He remembered silently agreeing with Ron's exclamation of, _'How could one person feel all of that?'_ But as he caught the look in Luna's eyes, those normally dreamy, unfocused, silvery orbs, he found himself reading a whole plethora of them and guessing a few more.

He could read the disbelief and amusement over his feeble excuse, and her disappointment at being left behind. He could practically hear her self-deprecating thought of: _'Did you really think you were anything other than a convenient excuse? Don't make me laugh.'_

So, as he turned away from her and followed Malfoy out of the room, he felt his cheeks burn with shame. It did not matter that she wasn't his date tonight; Luna deserved better from him.

That night, Harry went to sleep with a head full of Unbreakable Vows and dark plots, but the only dream he could remember was of Luna's bright smile at his invitation morphing into an expression of hurt.

That morning, he vowed to make up for the way he had left her at Slughorn's party.

The night after Dumbledore's funeral, Harry could not sleep. Instead, he walked through the silent and deserted halls of Hogwarts—and that was when he saw her sitting by the window, looking like an ethereal, otherworldly being bathing in the silvery light of the moon.

Mindful of his vow and of the fact that his friend probably needed to think of other things as desperately as he himself did, he approached her. When she turned to face him, he bowed and, offering her his hand, asked: _"Oh, beautiful lady, may I have the honour of your dance?"_

* * *

 _We finally fall apart and we break each other's hearts_

 _If we wanna live young, love, we better start today_

I wondered if I had managed to fall asleep after all. For how else could he stand here and say that? My angel was giving me the _oh-so-innocent_ smile that reminded me of Daddy's stories of the Marauders. No, this was not a dream. I had never had one so good and elaborate before.

I smiled and took his hand. We danced the night away to the music only we could hear.

We must both have heard it, though, as he never, not even once, stepped on my feet.

 _It's gotta get easier, oh easier somehow_

 _'Cause I'm falling, I'm falling_

 _Oh easier and easier somehow_

 _Oh I'm calling, I'm calling_

 _And it isn't over unless it is over_

 _I don't wanna wait for that_

 _It's gotta get easier and easier_

And so we danced the dark night and the pain away. And when we were too tired to feel anything—even the gloom, we spotted the first dusting of the dawn. Harry, being the perfect gentleman, escorted me to the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower before heading back to his own dormitory. By an unspoken agreement, we did not ever mention that night to anyone.

And as I sat in the Room of Requirement in late April the following year, watching Ginny get ever closer to Neville, who had grown into greatness since the Yule Ball and was more like a hero of old than the shy boy that had danced with her then, I wondered how Harry was doing. In the nearby fireplace, many drafts of letters to him burned and cracked in fire like this year's firsties' opinions on magic. With a shake of my head, I returned to my drawing of a raven-haired boy and a blonde girl dancing in the moonlight.

Later yet, when I distracted 'them' so he could have some calm and quiet, I could hear the haunting ending of the song I heard that magical night during which I actually enjoyed dancing.

 _It's gotta get easier and easier somehow_

 _It's gotta get easier and easier somehow_

 _Not today_

 _Not today_

 _Not today_

 _Not today_

 _Not today_

* * *

 _There she goes in front of me_

 _Take my life, set me free again_

 _We'll make a memory out of it_

 _Holy road was at my back_

 _Don't look on, take me back again_

 _We'll make a memory out of it_

Harry was feeling completely exhausted. Everyone clung to their family or their job. Yes, they had won, but Hogwarts was in shambles, which would have been a terrible blow to Wizarding Britain on its own. With the addition of the countless dead, it was devastating.

Many looked to him for guidance, but all he wanted to do was to cling to Teddy—which he could not. Andromeda was raising Teddy and she was not up to too many of his visits.

So, when an unfamiliar brown owl tapped at his window, he wasn't even a bit curious about who it was from. He just went through the motions as he checked it for hexes, curses and potions before he opened it.

 _Hello Harry,_

he read. His brow furrowed as he tried to recognise the handwriting. It was not from Hermione, the Weasleys or Neville.

 _I just got a lead for my hunt of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks._

Harry smiled ruefully. How had he not recognised Luna's handwriting?

 _But Daddy has become a bit overprotective of me since... Well, anyway, it is apparently improper for a young woman to travel alone across the wilderness of Jutland._

 _I don't really know if travelling with a young man is any less improper, but it would certainly be less lonely, and it would make my father feel better about me going._

 _It is not like I ever cared about what was proper, anyway._

 _And I thought you might love the chance to get away from all of this for a while. Take a breath of fresh air, if you know what I mean?_

 _Either way, I am looking forward hearing from you._

 _Love,_

 _Luna_

By the end of the letter, Harry was grinning widely and turning to find all he needed to write a reply. As he scrunched up the first draft because it sounded awful, he noticed that the brown owl had flown away. With a pang in his heart, he realised that there was no Hedwig anymore and so no way for him to send a reply. Well, he could go to an Owl Post, but he really did not want to go into the public area.

He took his cloak, stepped outside, and with a loud crack, was gone.


End file.
